Happy Birthday

It must have been a decade ago, or nearly, that I wrote this poem for a friend. It was coded verse in her voice to someone else, and today its strange metaphor was born in the most literal sense of labor and breath. So I'm posting it here today. Welcome to the world, Everett. We have waited for you long.

"An Incarnation"

Certain as stars am I

that this embryo will grow

as though filled with the patient spirit

that met Mary so intimately 

upon her humble Yes.

Certain as stars, though stars die,

setting hope on long life—

all the millions of years 

between their first burning and our sight—

I will wait.

It is not enough that he grow in me

a child sleeping silent—

He must grow in you also

between the sheets of your heart like pages

in a story book.

This is the Law of Waiting

and I hold to its words like a child

to its mother—I would be a mother,

but am barren and weeping

at the temple doors,

making vows to my patient Spirit-God

of waiting and wombs:

I will name him

after the brother of Your Son

for he must be a miracle.

In the glow of a bedside lamp I see him

silent and straight, waiting,

as I am, to be born. A shadow still

until you see him, too,

dark and growing strong.

I will see you in his evening glow

rumpling his hair on the pillow as you do

and I know this is not prophecy

or vision, but a kicking sense—

a breath of something waiting.

Will you not let him form?

Say his name in the tide of your afternoon

or press your hand against me

and feel his heart beat 

like a spinning world?

Take him with you in your

go and come. Read and speak

to him. Drive and walk

with him. See, live, and love him—

as I do

you.